Unwarranted Meddling
by skyfireflight16
Summary: We all know the story of how our courageous friends teamed up, went to battle, and essentially saved the known world. But what if someone from a completely different place had come and interfered, changing the course of events? Follow our friends, with a few other stow-aways, as they change the weave of history - in more ways than one.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Hello one and hello all! Welcome to the first installment of ****Unwarranted Meddling****, my second fan-fiction story ever! Do I hear cheers? Yes? No? Maybe? Well, I guess I'll hear your cheers (or boos, but please, none of those, unless you're specific as to why) when you review. **

**Oh yeah, and I don't own any game/story/creation of Final Fantasy. I just like messing around with them.**

**Warning: Quite a few game/storyline spoilers; read at your own risk. **

**In-game events and times are to the best of my knowledge and the knowledge of my sources. If I'm wrong on any details, kindly let me know, and I'll change it. Oh, yeah, and this story is practically filled with original characters. But enough of that; on with the story!**

* * *

**It Begins With Loyalty**

* * *

_Not a game, but a reality_

_Not yet reality, but a prophecy_

_Will it come true, as foretold?_

_That, my child, is for you to decide…_

* * *

**Year**: 704 O.V.

**Location:** The Nalbina Fortress

**Other important details:** There seems to be a battle going on here. Hmm, not too sure what that's all about. Uh-oh, was that an explosion?! I'd better get out of here. And these people should KNOW _not_ to ride chocobos on castle battlements, especially with swords and archery equipment! Someone could fall, or worse, get an arrow in their shoulder….

* * *

Tiyrin really didn't know what he was doing. Scratch that – he knew exactly what he was doing; being _stupid_, that's what! At only 13 ½ years old, there was _no way_ that he'd be allowed to join the Dalmascan armed forces, or even volunteer. No; he had to just sit at home with his family and pray (but who'd be listening?) that everything would be alright, that Arcadia couldn't take the fortress. That Dalmasca would stand its ground.

Yeah…no. He wasn't taking that chance – was not going to just sit around watching how things played out. Not to mention, Nabradia's own Prince Rasler was there.

After the destruction of Nabudis (and practically the rest of the country), Tiyrin and his family had found themselves to be part of the few survivors that had been miraculously spared. Miraculous because, at the time, Tiyrin's family hadn't been more than a few miles from the capital city. Maybe believing in gods did have some credit after all…

But there were plenty who had not survived. His uncle, his cousins…many of his best friends who he could never play with again. In less than an instant, so many people just…_gone_. And then there was that girl he'd been starting to…. Tiyrin shook his head. No, he mustn't think about that, must _not_ let himself start crying; no, not now, not here. Tiyrin squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will away the image of the aftermath, of the horror he'd felt after his parents had explained to him what had happened. Even then, though, he wasn't sure he wanted to understand.

Tiyrin and his family, along with some other survivors, had left the country as quickly as they could. They'd settled down just inside the Dalmascan border. Others, however, had gone to Rozzaria, for whatever reason. But that was beside the point, as far as Tiyrin was concerned.

The point was that, right now, what had become to be known to him as a safe haven, despite not having lived there for very long, has now being threatened. This couldn't go on; the Empire could not be allowed to continue its rampage. He was _not _going to stand for that! Especially not when his prince was risking his life out here for their sake. Speaking of risking one's life….

A nearby explosion snapped Tiyrin out of his reverie. The boy's eyes flew open as shouts filled the air. The wall beside him and the bridge he was crouching under rumbled and vibrated. The battle was getting closer to him, and soon he'd have to make a choice: fight or run.

No, not "run". He'd made that decision long before he snuck out of the house. He was determined to hold his ground…whatever ground he had over an army of full-grown men, anyway.

_ Stupid, stupid, stupid! _The rational side of his brain yelled at him. _What do you think you're _doing, _coming out here in the middle of all this? You've got no armor, no battle training – _

_ Hey, that's not true! _The other side of him protested.

_ Okay, fine, you have _some _battle training: the two weeks of fencing lessons you had with your uncle the summer that you were _twelve _– like THAT counts for anything. And on top of that, you don't even have a weapon! Just how do you think you're gonna fight without a weapon, huh?_

It was true. Tiyrin had planned to sneak off with his late grandfather's sword, or at least his 15-year-old brother's – that one he could actually lift with too much trouble – but he'd been worried about making noise and getting caught ( he would have taken his sister's weapon, a bow with about a million arrows, since it was kept outside the house, but the boy was atrocious when came to archery skills), so he'd left the house without taking so much as a sling-shot.

_ It was two MONTHS, not two weeks. Besides, I've wrestled before. _And_ I am pretty good, if I do say so myself!_

_ Riiiiiight…because rough-housing with your friends counts as soldier-level fighting. Besides, it's not like you can go hand-to-hand combat with a full-grown trained soldier, who is three times your size, I might add, _with _both armor and a sword. You'd be dead in zero-minutes flat, even if you _did_ have a sword. Do you want your family to lose someone else? _

Tiyrin shook his head again, telling the rational side of his brain to shut up. He was starting to lose his resolve. Maybe he _should_ just go home….

A cry came from overhead, and a sword was thrown from the battlements of the fortress. Tiyrin jumped up and scrambled backwards as the weapon whistled in its flight through the air. Its descent abruptly ended, the sword clattering on the ground not far from Tiyrin.

If he had been in the wrong spot, that sword could have seriously injured him, and that would've been that. But, approaching the weapon and looking down at it, Tiyrin didn't see it as a threat. To him, it was more like…an invitation.

Tiyrin examined the sword. It wasn't as large as his brother's, but it looked plenty sharp. He gripped its hilt and picked it up, experimentally moving it around in the air in front of him. He found, much to his amazement, that he could lift and maneuver it easily.

He twirled the sword around, performing a couple of mock slices and jabs – not that he was hoping to actually have to _kill_ anyone – just to get the feel of it. He looked up at the fortress looming above him. Judging by the increasing volume of fighting noise, the battle was being pressed closer and closer. In a few seconds, it would be right on top of him.

An explosion, larger and nearer than the last, shook Tiyrin's hiding place. He looked in the direction the sound came from. If he went straight ahead and turned the corner, he would be in front of the fortress. Turning to the side, he saw that there was a staircase in the stone wall beside him, probably leading up to the battlements.

The 13 ½ year-old boy gripped his sword and made a decision.

Tiyrin began to run.

* * *

Note: Tiyrin is pronounced TYE - rinn


	2. Chapter 2

** Authors Note: Hey again, guys! And now, with great joy, I present to you the second chapter of Unwarranted Meddling. It took a lot longer to get this out than I was hoping, but if it's any compensation, this chapter is quite a bit longer than the last one. Of course it would be; I spent the last several days working very hard on this. But enough of my rambling. One last thing, though. As this is a work in progress, there's probably going to be some edits in the future. So, without further ado, I give you chapter 2.**

* * *

**Battle Cry – Part I**

* * *

"_Mom? What do you love?"_

_What do I love, or who do I love?_

"_What. What do you love?"_

_I love creating and exploring._

"_Both at the same time?"_

_Yes. Sometimes, creating is simply exploring what is yet to be._

"'_What is yet to be'? What does that mean?"_

_What doesn't exist yet._

"_Oh."_

* * *

In three racing leaps, Tiyrin ducked into the staircase within the wall of the Nalbina Fortress. Good thing, too. Almost immediately afterward, the area that had served as his hiding place just moments before became swarming with soldiers. Battle cries and the sharp clanging of metal against metal now raged both above and below him, drowning out his pounding footsteps as he hurried up the stairs.

The loud, rhythmic sound of his feet against the brown-gray stone-tiled steps, which looked mostly black in the darkness, echoed off the walls and ceiling, mimicking the young boy's racing heartbeat. As he climbed the stairs, Tiyrin slowed down his pace a bit. Despite his resolve not to run – his determination to join in the fight to protect the Dalmascan border – the young Nabradian boy found himself a little hesitant. His heart pounding in his chest and his ever-so-slightly shaky breathing revealed the truth that Tiyrin would have never admitted to had someone asked him at that moment: Tiyrin was afraid.

Taking in his surroundings, Tiyrin found himself thinking about how much this stairwell _really_ looked like a tunnel. The staircase was enclosed with curved walls and an arched ceiling, all made of the same brown-gray stone tile. The place was mostly dark; the only light for Tiyrin to see by was the torches set at regular intervals along both walls. The small fires crackled and flickered occasionally, sending long, ominous, wavering shadows across every surface, which certainly wasn't helping Tiyrin's confidence level.

The truth was, he was getting more and more unsure. The sounds of the battle raging all about him grew dim as Tiyrin continued to climb farther up the staircase. His fear, combined with the eerie darkness, caused his mind to play ricks on him, his thoughts becoming irrational.

This stairwell seemed endless. How long had he been down here, climbing? Had it been five minutes? Or ten? There was no way to know for sure.

The crackling of the fires seemed to be laughing at him, taunting him. _What do you think you're doing here anyway, little boy?_ They seemed say. A torch just ahead of Tiyrin flickered violently, making shadows dance dramatically on the walls.

Shadows.

Tiyrin's breathing picked up. Were soldiers coming up after him? Gripping his sword tightly in his fist, Tiyrin didn't dare to turn around and look back. Did this tunnel even _have_ an opening? If it did, why could he not see it? He couldn't go back down the way he came, not with the swarms and swarms of soldiers. What if he got trapped here in this stairwell forever?

But the rational side of Tiyrin's brain knew there had to be an opening – had to be an end. It took all his will power, but he kept his legs moving, going up, up, up, towards the fierce, deadly fighting, which Tiyrin could now again hear the sounds of above him.

Finally – _mercifully_. After what seemed like an eternity – though in actuality had only been barely a minute – he could see the dark night sky through the opening as he approached the top of the stairwell.

He emerged out from within the tunnel and onto the battlements, being concealed by a low wall that extended from the left side of the opening. A loud, _WHIRRRR – WHOOSH – VROOM! _sound came from somewhere overhead, and Tiyrin quickly crouched down behind the low wall, his right hand resting against it, the rest of his body balanced on the balls of his feet. He looked up, and found the source of the noise.

An explosion of blue and red and orange lit up the sky, so close to Tiyrin's hiding place that he could feel the energy from it vibrating through the low wall against his fingers. For a split-second moment, Tiyrin couldn't help but admire the bright array of colored energy that the explosion emitted. It was an artwork of beauty…but, also, of death.

More explosions followed soon afterward, coming in quick succession, one after another, after another, after another. The blasts paused for a moment, and the dazzling – yet deadly; Tiyrin made sure to keep that in mind – lights faded just long enough for him to see their source. Or sources, rather. From his hiding place, Tiyrin could see sky vessels where the lights once were, many small, some huge, coming in a vast waves – numbers upon numbers of airships, bearing down on the Fortress.

The air force had been brought in.

From his vantage point, and with all the chaotic fighting, Tiyrin couldn't tell which airship belonged to who; which was friend and which was foe. But, when it came right down to it, it really didn't matter. Not to him, anyway. Tiyrin was on land, (errrr, bridge…close enough), and _he _knew which side _he _was on.

Trying to gain his recently lost confidence, the young Nabradian closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his fingers curling against the low wall he was sheltered behind, their tips digging into the spaces between the slabs of stone. The battle was still young, but who knew how long it would last? If he wanted to make a difference, he had to act _now_.

Sliding his hand down the wall with his fingers still in a curled position, Tiyrin took one last deep breath, preparing himself to leave his hiding place. He lifted his head and looked around, peeking up over the wall, then crouching back down, directing his gaze toward the opening between his wall and the wall of the bridge.

After several seconds, Tiyrin spotted a door up ahead, which, by the look of it, lead into the inside of the fortress. He felt braver now, but Tiyrin wasn't ready to join the fighting just yet. He slowly raised himself up, checking to see if the coast – or at least enough of it for him to slip past unnoticed – was clear. It was. To his left, the battle was raging, but to his right – as far as he could tell, since right after the door, the wall turned a corner, and he couldn't see what was on the other side – there was nothing. Of course, there was no guarantee how long it would stay that way.

With that in mind, Tiyrin stood to his full height and swiftly removed himself from his hiding placing, running toward the door as fast as he could. As before, the battle noise drowned out the sound of his pounding feet on the stone. He turned to his right and ducked through the door unnoticed.

He shut the door behind him as quickly and quietly as he could, just as a precaution. As in the tunnel staircase, the light in the room was dim. Two small torches, each on an opposite end of one of the walls, flickered dimly, their fires looking as if they would go out any minute. The room itself was pretty large, about 25 feet long, with the width about the same.

He looked around the room, looking for something, anything, he could use before he got out on the battlefield. True, he had his sword, and that would no doubt do him good, but he needed a bit more in the protection department.

He carefully unclenched his fingers from the sword's hilt and laid it down beside the wall closest to him, within one of the dim-shining rays of the torches. He then faced the rest of the room. In truth, although this place was literally a warzone right now, Tiyrin had expected this room – or any part inside the fortress for that matter – to be a bit …cleaner. However, the case was, in fact, quite the opposite.

Piles of armor and weapons were scattered across the floor. Well, piles may not be the proper term. Pieces of armor and weaponry littered the middle of the room, items thrown here and there, and often landing on top of each other; it was much like the way a messy child leaves his or her toys lying about after playing with them. Except, in here, the objects of war numbered way more than any amount of toys a single child could ever hope to have.

_Well, this'll be a task, _he thought.

Tiyrin got down on the floor and started to sift his way through the clutter, hoping to find anything that might be of use to him. He set aside all the swords he found – he already had one of those, and he wasn't skilled enough to handle two – making a row of them beside him.

As he made his way through the mess, he came upon several pieces of armor. He picked each of them up one by one, lifting them to the faint beams of torchlight and turning them over in his hands.

_ Let's see about this one. No, way too big. This one? Sheesh, who would wear this? Oh, it's for a chocobo – no wonder. And that one is really rusted. It shouldn't even _be_ in here; someone should seriously clean this thing. _

_ What about this helmet? Yeah, if I were a giant. This one? No, too rusted. No…too big. For a chocobo. I can't use only one armor-glove. No…too big…too big...broken… broken… rusty…. what the heck is this? Oh, an armguard. Too big – _

An explosion – extremely close to the roof, if the loudness and the way it shook the roof was anything to go by – snapped him from his concentration. Tiyrin startled at the sudden noise, the armguard dropping from his fingers at his hands' sudden jerk, landing on the floor and against other armor pieces with a clang. He lifted his head to the ceiling, toward where the sound came from. Then he exhaled, rolled his shoulders, and shook his head slightly, regaining his composure.

Turning back to the task at hand, which was now slightly more organized, a glint to his right caught his eye. A small beam of light from the torch on the far right of the wall that was facing him reflected off a metal object. Scooting the other armor and weapons to either side of him to make a path, Tiyrin crawled forward to get a closer look. When he saw what it was, he gasped in surprise. He just couldn't believe his luck.

_ No way…_

The light was reflecting off the breastplate of small suit of armor. Tiyrin studied it carefully. As far as he could tell, the armor was intact, with every piece of armor placed more or less in a circle, all grouped together. Intact. Clean. And small.

Small enough to fit Tiyrin.

_ Sweet. It's almost like someone's looking out for me._

He hoped that this someone would still stick around when he was out in the battle.

But, first thing's first.

Tiyrin gripped the breastplate and pulled it off the floor. He wondered why in the world there would be armor exactly his size; he wasn't exactly tall for his age, and the majority of soldiers were fully grown men. Scanning his eyes over the back of it, he got his answer. Scrawled on the back, in small letters, were the words _training armor, Nabradia. _

_ Well, that explains it._

He tapped the metal with one of his knuckles to check. It seemed solid enough. At any rate, it was the best he had to work with. Not that he was complaining, of course.

Starting with the breastplate, Tiyrin began to carefully dress himself in the armor. He was now even more grateful for the fencing lessons he had with his uncle last year; his uncle had taught him many things about fighting in battle, including a quick lesson on how to put on armor. Thankfully, he had remembered every part of that lesson.

Lastly, Tiyrin put on and secured his helmet, then he turned his gaze toward the door. The door that would send him out into the fighting. The door, that if he went through now, there was – as far as Tiyrin was concerned – a great chance he would not go through again tonight. The door that could possibly lead him to his death. He shook his head to clear those thoughts out of his mind. He would not allow himself to panic again.

He would. Not. _Run_.

_ Enough of that, Tiyrin_. He told himself. _Don't think about that right now. _

Turning the rest of his body, the 13 ½ year old boy strode to the door, with confidence and determination in his steps. Taking one last deep breath, Tiyrin opened the door, then closed it behind him.

And found himself right smack in a killing frenzy.

_ Whoa! _

He wasn't prepared for _this_. Well, at least the battle had come to _him_, instead of him having to push himself into it.

_ You did that when you opened the door and stepped out of the room. _His rational side answered.

_ Don't get technical. Just help me stay alive._

_ You got it._

Tiyrin scanned the area in front of his eyes quickly, and headed for the nearest enemy soldier. Hoping some brute force – as much as he had with his small frame, anyway – would take the man by surprise, Tiyrin ran as fast as he could and slammed his entire body weight into the soldier. It worked.

With a cry of surprise, the man flew backward, the momentum carrying both of them a few feet before they landed with a _smack! _on the stone floor, with the soldier pinned – sort of – underneath Tiyrin.

Well, not exactly on the floor. In the process, the two of them had rammed into another unsuspecting enemy soldier, knocking him to the ground and landing on top of him in a three-high pile-up. The unfortunate second soldier was thrown against the hard stone with at least 300 pounds of momentum, and his head hit the ground with so much force that, even with his helmet for protection, he was rendered unconscious immediately.

The boy winced. It would be a wonder if that guy didn't end up with a concussion.

Tiyrin quickly sat up from where he was sprawled on top of the first soldier, straddling the man's stomach with his knees bent, his calves nearly touching his thighs. This soldier, though winded, was not unconscious, and was rapidly recovering.

He had to think quickly. In a blur of motion, Tiyrin shifted the position of the sword in his hand and rammed its hilt against the side of the man's head with as much force as he dared.

Conscious? Say no more.

The young Nabradian slid off of the pile of the two senseless men, proud of his accomplishment. _Awesome! _He thought. _Two down... _He took a quick look around to regain his bearings, and his eyes widened as he saw the masses of soldiers surrounding him, fighting on the battlements.

_ ...and a lot to go. Well, no time to lose! I can do this! …Hopefully maybe._

And with that inspiration in mind, Tiyrin grabbed a shield from one of the fallen men – as he forgot to take the one in the room – and set off for the next nearest soldier. This one was already occupied. Even so, he figured he could lend a hand.

The Dalmascan soldier and Arcadian soldier were really going at it. The Arcadian jabbed at his enemy with his spear, but the Dalmascan kept ducking the strikes and blocking them with his sword, so no hits could land on either side. So far.

The two soldiers locked their weapons against each other just as Tiyrin ran to the Dalmascan's side. "Need a hand?" he asked over the noise.

"That would be splendid!" The man answered, his voice sounding strained with the effort of keeping the other soldier's spear at bay. If he noticed Tiyrin's younger voice and appearance, he didn't let on. Not surprising under the circumstances.

With a grunt, the Arcadian soldier pushed his weight through his spear against his opponent's sword, forcing it back, then used his weight behind his shield to knock the Dalmascan on the ground. A second later, their opponent repositioned his spear in both hands and lunged it for forward and down to stab him. Tiyrin was ready. In a flash, the boy jumped in front of spear and braced himself on one knee so that he was underneath it, raising his shield to block its path. The spear rammed against the shield with a clang, and the enemy soldier emitted cry of anger and frustration.

_ Foiled your plan, didn't I? _Tiyrin thought to himself, standing upright again, still holding back the spear against his shield.

This gave the Dalmascan soldier time to get back up, and he reappeared beside Tiyrin, his sword at the ready. He struck the flat of his sword against the opponent's spear, just above where one of his hands was gripping it. In an unspoken agreement, the Dalmascan soldier twisted his sword in such a way that the other man was forced to release that hand's grip on the spear, and Tiyrin joined into the effort, turning his shield and using his speed and weight to retch the spear completely out of the grip of the soldier's other hand. The spear went flying to the side, clattering on the stone a few feet's distance away. The Arcadian soldier was now unarmed. Or so Tiyrin thought. Rather than trying to reclaim his lost weapon, their opponent quickly brought his hand to his belt and pulled a sword out from its sheath. And the fight began again.

Together, Tiyrin and his older ally fought the Arcadian soldier, and they pushed him towards the edge of the bridge. Somewhere in the blur of slashing, ducking, jabbing, and blocking, the Arcadian soldier landed a strike. Tiyrin yelped in pain as the sword tore through his armor and sliced a cut into his right forearm, before he pulled away and put his shield in front of him. He took a quick glance at his bleeding arm. The cut was not deep, but it was painful. Painful enough to tick him off.

_ Oh, you are so gonna regret doing that, _he growled in his mind.

His anger gave him more adrenaline running through his blood stream, and with some newfound strength, he rejoined the fight. As his opponent's sword was preoccupied with his comrade's sword and shield, Tiyrin came from underneath and kicked the Arcadian as hard as he could in the shin. Now, since the man was wearing armor, it didn't have as much effect as it would have normally, but it still hurt. The kick caught the soldier slightly off guard and caused him to grunt in pain, still trying to get leverage with his weapon against the Dalmascan soldier to turn it toward whoever had kicked him.

Tiyrin kept moving. Using the kick as leverage, the young Nabradian slid his arm through his shield's handle, then gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands and swung it in an arch-path towards the enemy soldier. The flat of his blade landed forcefully on the wrist of his opponent's sword arm; the man hissed in pain. The blow was followed by a clever twist from the Dalmascan's sword and a push of his shield. This combination made the Arcadian soldier loose his grip on his sword, which flew off to the side, effectively disarming him, and pushed him up against the small bridge railing with enough force to make him lose his balance. With a shout, their opponent toppled backwards over the edge of the bridge. Tiyrin looked down over the railing, watching the man's decent, wincing as he landed on top of some soldiers that were fighting on the ground below.

_ Ouch. _

"That certainly was a tough opponent." The Dalmascan soldier commented, pausing to catch his breath.

"I'll say. Sure was." Tiyrin agreed wholeheartedly. Both of them breathing hard, the two allies turned to face each other. The soldier, finally getting a clear look at his young comrade, widened his eyes in disbelief.

"Your just a –."

"Bye!" Tiyrin said, already knowing what the soldier was about to say. The boy took off past him and continued down the bridge. Coming across their opponent's lost sword, Tiyrin picked it up and slid it in his sheath. If there was one lesson to be learned from that fight, it was that it's always good to carry a backup weapon. Tiyrin adjusted his grip on his sword and shield, then looked around to find another opponent.

Of course, it wasn't hard. If anything, the difficult thing was to choose which one to fight. That is, unless, one came to attack you first. And that's exactly what happened.

Well, partially.

Tyrin spotted the enemy soldier the same moment the soldier spotted him, and the soldier apparently either didn't notice that the Nabradian was just a kid or, which was more likely, he didn't care. The two charged at each other, weapons and shields at the ready. The Arcadian swung his sword full force down at Tiyrin. Since the full-grown man had the upper hand when it came to height, weight, and overall strength, the blow would have given the young Nabradian a nasty wound in his side, armor or no armor. Yet Tiyrin had the advantage of speed and agility, and didn't give it a chance to land. Raising his shield to keep it between him and the soldier, Tiyrin swiftly slid underneath his opponent. Then, freeing his left hand by slipping his arm through the handle of his shield, Tiyrin grabbed his opponent's ankle and, with a hard twist – but not hard enough to break or sprain it – retched his foot from underneath him, using both of their momentums and the older man's center of gravity against him.

It worked. The man lost his balance and fell forward. Tiyrin quickly jumped to his feet behind the soldier, restored his hold on his shield's handle, and repositioned his grip on the sword's hilt, hoping to knock the soldier out. He didn't get the chance. The man, although not as agile as Tiyrin, was also fast. In two seconds, he pushed himself off of the stone floor and turned back to face the boy. Sensing an opportunity – and moving for the more self-preserving option – Tiyrin turned and ran as fast as he could along the bridge, right next to the stone railing, with the Arcadian soldier right behind. When he was satisfied with the distance between them, Tiyrin stopped abruptly and whirled around toward the soldier, who was still running at full speed towards the boy.

The boy in question raced to the soldier, bumping hard into his left side and pushing him to the right, right where the bridge railing was, while hitting the soldier's foot with his own. His momentum and weight once again used in combined force against him, the man jerked to the right against the low stone wall and lost his balance, toppling over the wall and falling into the masses of soldiers below.

Tiyrin leaned his hands on his knees and sighed in relief, letting out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. He'd certainly had to think fast on that one. Tiyrin was no fool; he could see that either, one: someone was watching out for him, or two: so far, he'd been very lucky.

Unfortunately for him, his luck was about to run out.

Tiyrin straightened and turned around, going to the middle of the bridge he was on and continuing down it. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a brief, bright flash of light, but he didn't pay it any mind. It was probably just the lights of the air-battle that was going on around the fortress, now being blocked by the fortress's paling. Tiyrin scanned his eyes to and fro in front of him, trying to decide which enemy soldier to engage next.

Only, once again, that was chosen for him. Tiyrin's clever defeat of the last Arcadian soldier hadn't gone unnoticed. Unbeknownst to him, another Arcadian had been watching, and the fact that his comrade was taken out by a mere child didn't sit well with him. A boy, yes, but most importantly, an enemy threat. Although why the Dalmascans were letting children fight now was beyond him. Probably a shortage of proper fighting men.

He was wrong, of course, but there was no way of him knowing what had brought Tiyrin here. Not that it would have made any difference.

Tiyrin had a brief second to realize the man was coming towards him before he felt him ram into his side. With a grunt, the boy fell sideways onto the stone floor of the battlement, his sword slipping from his grasp as he caught himself with both hands. He quickly grabbed it back up and turned to face the culprit looming over him, who was already moving his sword through the space between them. Tiyrin brought up his shield just in time. The sword hit the shield with a clang, and Tiyrin's arm shook with exertion and the force of the blow. He was still recovering his breath from being knocked down.

Tyrin got up with his shield held as firmly as he could in front of his body, between him and the soldier. He gripped his sword and brought it up, but the other soldier was a very skilled fighter, and had quite a few tricks up his sleeve…er…armguard. The Arcadian soldier brought up his sword to meet Tiyrin's, and with an expert twist, sent the young Nabradian's sword flying out of his hand. Tiyrin brought his shield up, hoping to use his weight through it to get some leverage. But he never got the chance. Before he knew what happened, Tiyrin's shield had been retched out of his hand and sent flying, and he found himself falling backward. He grunted in pain at the impact. The collision between the stone and the metal of his helmet made a _twee-eeng! _sound, his head smacking against the stone underneath it so hard that he saw little bright spots dance in front of his eyes,.

The last thing Tiyrin was aware of was the Arcadian soldier looming above him, the sword poised straight above his chest, ready for the kill, and the pressure on his arm, holding him down.


End file.
